Drunk England
by BritainsBrows
Summary: England is overly drunk and decides to have some fun with America as he sleeps. warning: contains sex
"You know, Alfred. Al. Ally my pally. Ally my pally who I marry. Ally shlowy be by bo bowie," England abandoned his original point and began laughing at the various words that sound similar to "Ally".

"Go on. What do I know?" America sat across their kitchen table handling the overly drunk man as he usually does: With thin patience and the bottle of whisky hidden from England's view.

"M'kay. So you know how babies get born, right?" England put emphasis on weird words as he gestured wildly and sloppily with his whole body. America didn't even flinch when a rouge leg hit him in the shin.

"Yes, I know."

"Alright alright okay," England got really serious as he laid himself across the table and grabbed one of America's hands as if he were going to comfort him, "Ally Al. I'm pregnant. You see because," tears started to flow easily, "you... we... "

America cut of England before the bawling started, "You're fine, you idiot. You can't get pregnant."

England sniffed and made intense eye contact with the other man, "No? Really?"

America shook his head, "No babies are coming from you ever."

If America thought that mended the problem, he was sorely mistaken.

"I'm barren? Oh no what will my father ever think of me?" England shot out of his chair, knocking it over revealing that he had nothing covering his nether regions. "Ally Alfred, what will we do without a child?!"

America's patience had run out. He too got up out of his chair, and he used his height to try and intimidate now way too drunk man.

"England." America called him by his country name in a stern voice. Being addressed in such a formal stern manner stopped the hysterical man in his tracks. He looked to his partner like a child caught in the middle of something he shouldn't have been doing.

"Go to bed. Now. I'm tired and I just can't deal with you any more tonight, okay?"

For a moment the only sound was England's choppy breathing, until he straightened himself up, sniffed, took a confidant step towards the stairs, and wobbled right into America on the second step. America caught him, and being given no choice, sighed and scooped England into his arms to carry him upstairs to bed. Almost as soon as hitting the sheets England was sitting up again. America only wanted to sleep, so he ignored him, shed his clothes down to his underwear, and hopped into his side of the bed.

After a long drunken minute England decided he might as well lay down to, so he did. After another minute he decided he wasn't tired, but he soon realized america would hate him forever if he got up again. England then began to cry at the thought of America hating him forever. After another minute, tears already forgotten, he adjusted himself so he was laying facing America's back. England's face lit up as he saw this was a prime spooning opportunity. He happily wiggled over to America and placed himself as the big spoon. America was very tense, and not very up to this spooning session, but in hopes it would end quickly he did nothing. England did not move for a long while. Why would he move? Laying with America was amazing. Especially naked. All the skin on skin was just so intimate. All of a sudden England found himself with a boner. England thought about how fast that was, as exhausted America fell off into sleep. England noticed nothing, now, except for his boner. What if America had one too? Well surely he should help him.

With a newfound determination he snaked his arm around America, found his crotch, and happily began fondling his penis through his underwear. In no time it was hardening. America, an extremely heavy sleeper, did not wake, but he did shift and let out a quiet groan. Happy with his work thus far England reached his hand under America's underwear. There he got a much better feel of everything. Even though amazingly drunk, he still remembered what America's favorite thing was. England took his forefinger and began to massage the area where the head meets the shaft. After only a few seconds of this America's breathing began to stager, and he tensed. England continued the concentrate massage for a short while before starting to widen his strokes until finally his whole hand was closed around the shaft and he was stroking the entire length top to bottom. America started to subconsciously rock his hips with the motions of England's hand, and he groaned increasingly often. Steadily the pace increased. England was sure America was about to cum when America suddenly jerked awake and franticly tried to swipe the invading hand away in confusion. England was too far into it to stop so he only went faster, and before he knew what was happening America orgasmed. It wasn't any orgasm he had had before either, he felt like he had exploded in pleasure. His toes curled as his whole body curled up, he couldn't help but grunt with clenched teeth as he orgasmed, and all the while England continued right along. As soon as the initial shock wore off America was gasping at England telling him to stop. England only laughed as America tried to hit England's hand away while still being hit with spasms, but the spasms were quickly becoming less pleasure and more pain. Finally America was able to maneuver his body in such a way England's hand couldn't reach it. America was still shocked and couldn't think of anything to say.

"Will you do me now?" England asked.

"Did you seriously just do what I think you did?" He was staring at the other man as he struggled to catch his breath.

"Yeah, now it's my turn."

"No. It is not. Now it's time to sleep, and not fucking jerk each other off."

"But-"

"No. Just sleep, you pervert. And I," America gestured wildly to himself, "am off limits."

"I'll sleep better if you help me though."

"Do it yourself. I'm going to sleep on the couch."

~TYYT~

The next morning England awoke to a headache that adjectives fail to describe the magnitude of. He also found himself alone in bed covered in sticky residue that he was hoping was not what he thought it was. There was rustling in the closet. England looked up and saw America pulling on pants.

"Good morning," he said putting a hand to his head. "I don't remember anything from last night. How bad was I?"

"Morning. Oh, childish, weepy, the usual. You know, you have to stop getting that drunk. It's no fun for anyone."

"The process can be fun."

"Well, I get stuck dealing with the result, and I know that's not fun. So stop."

America walked over to the bed and sat.

"What did I do?"

America mulled over for a second whether or not to tell England about the big happening.

"Nothing new."

If England didn't know, America would have a great surprise waiting.

"Okay then. I think I'll stay here until my head stops exploding."

America nodded, grabbed a shirt, and left the room. Boy, was England going to have an intense alarm clock tomorrow.


End file.
